He’s leaving me. I know he is. I’m constantly dreaming about him. I never get any peace. He pulls away, I try to follow. He’s cold and distant and I can’t keep trying to keep up with these games. It’s all just a game to him. I give up. I’m walking away. I can’t do this anymore. I have to stay away because all I get it hurt. It’s just make believe Jessica. He doesn’t love you. He told you he wasn’t attracted to you. He told you if he wants something he goes after it. He hasn’t gone after you. He hasn’t done anything to make you believe he has any inkling of feeling towards you. You HAVE TO let him go. Because your own mental health is so important. Fuck your feelings bro. Right now is the time to get money. Because you being caught up in what he’s doing and him flirting with these stupid bitches is not making you money. It’s not helping you. It’s not going to change your future. You have to let him go. YOU HAVE TO LET HIM GO. It doesn’t matter how much you love him. When did that ever matter to the universe? He doesn’t appreciate you at all. HE DOES NOT APPRECIATE YOU AT ALL. Who you are, what you mean; what you do. Why keep testing your own patience? Why keep putting yourself thru this hell? You deserve so much better. You deserve a man who cannot stop himself from being all over you. Seeing about you. Obsessed with you. A man that tells you every day how beautiful you are. A man that thanks god for you. Doesn’t make you feel like there’s something wrong with you when you show emotion. That he understands. He’s gentle and caring. He listens to you, how you feel, your stories. Be alone babygirl. Be alone and keep putting your need into the universe and she loves you so much she will provide. Stop settling for scraps. You deserve diamonds. You deserve to be spoiled. You deserve the crown of the Queen. That’s who you are. You’ve been the servant so long and that’s why you deserve it. You cannot allow this man to make you weak. Stop giving him that power. You are so amazing. I love you so much beautiful. Keep loving yourself and you will attract that kind of mate. Know that there is no one else that could love you like you. Know that you take care of you. You cherish you. And a man will follow suit. You think the best of you. You are wonderful. You are amazing. You are glorious. You are beautiful. You are talented. You are magnificent. You are a Queen.
Burnt toast reminds me of my grandfather. Strong and dark. Bold and hard. Will leave you raw if you don’t swallow it just right. I don’t know when food started being my only comfort. Maybe it was when I accidentally pissed the bed and my dad beat the living shit out of me so bad that I was afraid to even look at him so he bought me a kit Kat bar to apologize, but never actually said the words of “I’m sorry.” Just explained why he did it. Maybe it was when I would try to eat the fastest out of my siblings that totaled 6 of us so I could get seconds first because food just seemed like there was too much of us and not enough of it. Maybe it was the 3 am tiptoes to the Oreos my father use to hide on the top shelf of the pantry behind the flour. It was like a ceremony, splitting the two sides in half, slowly licking off all of the cream, placing one dark circle in the middle of my tongue then pressing it to the roof of my mouth so it broke in half, those quiet crunches so I wouldn’t get caught. I don’t know what rushed to my blood faster, the secrecy or the sugar, but ecstasy nonetheless. Food was my first unrequited love. The pleasure I derived from the preparation and devour. Until there’s nothing left but dirty dishes and a guilty feeling that leaves you so full you can barely move. I have an addiction. The hardest part about it is that I literally would die without food. So, how could I ever quit? How can I manage it when my drug of choice so happens to be something that keeps me alive.
I’ve always been mixed up. Like ingredients that don’t go together. Cheese and chocolate or sour cream and pretzels. I make no sense.
I’ve been dancing around the juicy details like a fat person dances around the room pretending the dessert plate isn’t the precise reason why they came to the party. Here it is… the thick of it. Since that’s all you heathens seem to want. No one seems to care about you unless you’re in the center of a scandal. I am afraid nothing I have ever done has been scandalous enough to keep you goblins appeased, but none the less, my attempt:
When I was only 15 I fell in love with a boy. Only this boy didn’t like being a boy. Like the band Tilly and the Wall says, “some names have been changed to protect identities of the innocent. So, just sit back and pretend that this one is about some other friend.” Anyways, this boy/girl named Blain use to dye his hair raven black. He wore it to his chin and always over his right eye. I have no clue how he even walked. He wore all black, like completely covered head to toe. Metallica shirts, huge baggy black parachute pants, and heavy black combat boots. Black fingernails. I have no clue why, but I was absolutely OBSESSED with this kid. I thought that he was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. And I wanted him. bad.
We lived in a boring white neighborhood where if you didn’t wear Hoe-lister or Amberzombie and Bitch you were not cool. period. And I was so far from cool I was like the definition of the antonym. And I loved it that way. I hated all of them and I never wanted to fit in. I could literally see the terror in people’s eyes when Blain would walk near them. I wanted to evoke that kind of emotion. I was kind of just invisible, until I was noticed and made fun of for being fat. So, I have no idea why, but Blain loved me back. Not in the way that I loved him, but it was good enough for me. I would go to his house after school and we would hang out on a mattress that laid on his basement floor and play video games or listen to death metal (which I actually hated but I didn’t mind it so much when he was showing me songs that the lyrics meant a lot to him.) Stupidly, I introduced him to my best friend, Aby.
Aby was an only child. She was spoiled and controlling and a red headed, freckle faced, starved for attention pasty, blobby, annoyance of a human being. I am not sure why I loved her so much. Probably because she would pick me up from my hell hole of a house and allow me to escape my life of terrifying neglect. She had everything she ever wanted. A car at 16, her own bedroom (I shared a tiny bedroom with three sisters, shared a bed with one of them well into my teen years, shared all my toys, clothes, all of my belongings.) I never had any privacy. My life was exposed and always on display and whatever wasn’t, was interrogated about. Aby was never questioned, allowed to move about at her own free will. Given anything her tiny little selfish heart desired. But all she ever desired was whatever I so desperately wanted.
We three were inseparable. We would go to the mall just to hang out in the food court or play dance, dance revolution. We would just go driving in cornfields smoking pot or idk… whatever 15 & 16 year olds do. Then, I started noticing that Aby would all of a sudden have this to do or that to do. And of course as she was my only means of transportation, I would be sitting at home twiddling my thumbs. See kids, this was before the internet and you couldn’t see that your friends were hanging out without you, you had to find out the old fashioned way like having another friend call them on three way and put your phone on mute and have that other friend ask them what they are doing. So, one day, I did just that. I have my friend Beth call Aby and I muted my phone and sure enough that little slut was with Blain. I felt my heart burst like a coke can that had been left in the freezer. My first real feeing of betrayal.
So, the next day at school I wrote Blain a note and dropped it in his locker. After the next period I was so sick thinking about him reading the note and thinking I probably was just some loser and of course he didn’t want to hang out with me and rather hang out with Aby. But after that period ended and I was at my locker, he came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a note in return. Come to find out, Aby told Blain that I was grounded and my parents wouldn’t let me come out with them so they just kept hanging out as usual. I was FURIOUS. I didn’t even know at this young age that “friends” had the capacity to treat you like this. I thought that friendship was some kind of magical agreement you both are contracted into that you both never treat each other badly and everything you do you think of that other person. Boy, was I dumber than a box of Barbie dolls.
A few more notes passed back and forth, my attempt to find out if anything romantic was going on between Blain and Aby, and Blain came with a confession… He already had a girlfriend. This news made me both happy and sad. Happy because that hussy Aby had no shot in my mind. Sad because, well, neither did I. My naive little brain thought that commitments actually meant something back then. Lets all laugh tougher…
… So, I guess after this Blain started mentioning to Aby about going to get me, or he would purposefully make plans in front of her with me. So everything went kind of back to normal. Except for the fact that Blain and Aby seemed to have this weird connection that I felt like I was missing out on. I would catch them looking at each other and holding gaze for a little longer than usual. It would make me uncomfortable. I noticed Aby would mention certain things about her body in front of Blain and I would see his eyes wander. This was my first experience of a girl trying to trap a man. It was quite entertaining now that I think about it. But then it was incredibly infuriating. Because at this point I didn’t think my body was attractive. Even tho I was way more developed than Aby, I was awkward and I didn’t realize the power my body could have over men. Aby took full advantage of this. I started to feel like the third wheel. They became more physical, play fighting, tickling each other, they started hugging goodbye. As each day went by, I watched their relationship change. And also mine and theirs. It was almost as if I was becoming invisible again.
I am not sure if their intention was to make me so uncomfortable that I would stop coming around but that’s exactly what happened. And it didn’t take much time for Aby to admit to me that she was having SEX with Blain and he was cheating on his girlfriend. This was so appalling to me because 1. I had made a promise to my parents that I wouldn’t have sex before I was married. They even gave me a promise ring and everything. And literally the ONLY thing they cared about me was that I kept my virginity intact for my future husband like that was literally the sum of my worth. 2. I had these crazy ideals that all couples were in love and when you were in love you would never EVER do anything to hurt the other person. All of these crazy notions were shattering around me and I felt like I was barefoot and tiptoeing around trying not to be impaled by reality. I felt in agony. I couldn’t believe what was happening. And to make it worse, Aby said they were in love. I asked her if he was going to break up with his girlfriend? She said no, that he didn’t want to hurt her.
I felt like my mind was full of sprite and she just dropped a bucket of poprocks in there. I literally couldn’t fathom how he thought he could do this. And everything that I thought about this boy changed. Obsession and adoration turned into disgust and loathing. And come to find out, I knew the girlfriend. Her name was Karen. She was a grade above me, same grade as Aby and Blain. She was even in Aby’s English class. The secret burned inside of me like lava, threatening to erupt.
Time went on and they continued their affair until one day, Aby didn’t come to school. I called her after school to make sure she was okay. She said that Blain had called it off. That he couldn’t cheat on Karen anymore because he loved her and wanted to be with her. And although he loved Aby, it just wasn’t that same way he loved Karen. I felt sorry for her. In a way that you feel sorry for a child that falls off a chair you continued to tell them consistently to sit down and they wouldn’t. I thought that Aby would just need some time to get over it and then everything would be back to normal.
Two weeks go past and I am woken up by a phone call at 2AM. It’s Aby. I can barely make out what she is saying she’s sobbing so hard. She says “Blain is dead. He’s dead. It’s all my fault!” I ask her where she is? What was going on? I half think it’s a dream I am so out of it. She begs me to sneak out of my house and let her pick me up. I agree. Ten minutes later she’s pulling out of my driveway, hysterical. We barely make it down the street and she has to park to explain to me what happened…
… Blain didn’t want to leave Karen because he loved her. But he couldn’t let go of Aby either. Of course he couldn’t have both… so for some insane reason Aby and Blain came to the conclusion that they should do a suicide pact and kill themselves together so they could be together in the next life. So, they drove to the next state, bought two gallons of bleach, and were going to drink one a piece and die in each other’s arms. Only Aby chickened out. But Blain, despite Aby’s pleas for him to stop, downed almost the whole thing. She called 9-1-1. He was rushed to the Emergency room.
the bleach had eaten away at his esophagus and almost all of the lining of his stomach. He lost so much weight that months later when he returned to school, he was just a skeleton of a boy. He was so gaunt and ugly that Aby wanted nothing to do with him. And after the suicide attempt, Karen didn’t either.
These two bitches are the reason I got arrested for the first time…
TO BE CONTINUED
I feel like I may be possessed by the ghost of Amy Winehouse. If I could only be so lucky.
Why do I still dream about his kiss? She made millions off of her lover’s betrayal. Know what I’ve made? A dent in my bed where my lifeless body lays day after day, daydreaming about how he use to kiss me. The ways his tongue would turn and his lips would press harder then soft again, press and release, suck me in, push me out. How were we always skin to skin but he kept me a million miles away? I told him today, “I hate you. I hate the day I met you.” I’ll say anything now just to get a response. For every 100 I send, he sends 1/2 a one back. I keep ripping up my dignity copy and pasting it to each text and I hit SEND. It never comes back to me. How did I let myself go this far?
Ankles weak from the whiskey, these six inch heels might be the death of me.
Everything comes out so poetic. Everything comes out so pathetic.
I’ll drive an hour and ten minutes to his house. Yes, I wore that dress he likes. Yes, I wore the lace boy shorts. Yes, I wore the perfume. I hate perfume. Makeup on beat, Eyeliner on fleek.
He plays me what he thinks is a love song, trying to entice me. I can tell it’s just a ploy to get me out of these lace panties. What he doesn’t know is this is a decision I made before I ever walked thru the door. I have no dignity anymore. He took it all. That he wasn’t him. But I will blame it on him. Take all my anger out on him. Because he doesn’t answer but him will. At least for a little while. At least until he feels he’s given me what he owes me for what I will give him tonight. The last shreds of my dignity. It will be a fun game for me to see how far I can push him. How bad I can make him feel. He broke me. But I will make him feel like it was all his fault. Someone must pay penance for these sins.
Isn’t that what we are all doing? Making the next one make up for the last one?
When does it end? How did it even begin?
I need a drink.
“Bu–but I love him.” I said pouted lip, sounding pitiful like a spoiled child.
“Love don’t change nothin fool. Love don’t make you blacker. And love sure as hell don’t make him whiter. Y’all ain’t fittin. You don’t belong.” I half expected her to scream “now get!” the way she was shooing me away like some vermin that came wondering into a campsite unwanted looking for food scraps. I could not believe that a man that shook me to my very core of being, that conjured up such a magnificent love from my heart could have been created by a woman so drenched in hatred. Tears began to stream from my blue eyes, my face started to melt. I looked up at her, she seemed to be taking all the strength out of me and using it to make her face hard as a rock. She clenched her jaw and her eyes turned stone. I felt like a kid sobbing quietly so I did not receive another whooping. She turned and continued washing dishes, I gathered my purse and left, feeling more hopeless than ever.
I am like a cigarette to your beautiful mouth. You place me between your lips and bite down; I crush and tremble under your pressure. You inhale my chemicals for a few brief moments. And for those glorious moments pleasure releases through your body. You burn me up with your slow gasps and you have used all of me. You so freely toss me away to float around lonely cold and confused. What is my purpose now that I have been thrown away like useless trash?
But what you don’t realize is that I am poison to your lungs. I cling to your cells and your body involuntarily reacts to the withdrawal of me. You are addicted and you come and use me up over and over not having the strength to quit me. I enter through your lungs but I have touched your heart on the journey and you will never again not think about having just one last drag of me.
“Damnit. Every single time I try to connect this stupid Bluetooth it always messes up.” I am getting so frustrated even the scent of her perfume is pissing me off. She’s looking at me like I am totally nuts. She looks at me like this quite often lately and it infuriates me even more. We are settling in for the long drive across town to the movie theater. or one of her friend’s houses. or some other ridiculous adventure she is constantly trying to drag me to because lets face it, it’s over. But she thinks if she’s constantly keeping me busy that I won’t realize it. “Literally all you have to do is pick your phone in the Bluetooth menu and pick your car in the phone menu” she addresses me like I am a kindergartener that she has explained the alphabet to a million times and is still missing half the letters. “You think I don’t know how to get a connection?” I bark at her. “You obviously don’t know how to keep one” she huffs and rolls her eyes at me. She fiddles with the car dash menu and magically music starts playing over my radio. But this isn’t my usual Bon Iver/ Local Native jams. This is some Taylor Swifty crap she loves. I turn to her with a thousand hells burning in my eyes. “No. Freaking. Wonder. your stupid phone was connected” my bark has turned more to a growl now. “Here! You can use my phone and play WHAT EVER THE HELL YOU WANT!” she takes her phone and throws it at my lap. I want to crush it in my palm, but instead I just let it drop to the ground and continue to drive so she can be bored. I am punishing her. We are sitting in silence allowing it to marinade our anger. She’s looking out her window and I wonder what she is thinking about? I wonder what she thinks about what we have become. I remember when we first met and it was like a chemical explosion. We made love for the first time in my old car that has since been sold. I remember she tasted like tequila and pineapples. I wanted to wait because I knew I loved her and I wanted to make it special but she took my fingers and put them up her skirt and inside of her then licked my ear and breathed, “I need you right now.” I was so hard I could barely unzip my pants. I climbed over the center council, she turned over and I took her from behind right in my driveway. I remember for months after that I would just look out of my window down at where my car was parked and picture watching the scene from up there. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. So why do I hate her so much? Everything she does drives me insane. She is late for everything. She doesn’t wear matching socks. She doesn’t even remember to brush her hair some days. But she is beautiful in a way that is not ordinary or exotic, but more like stellar. Looking at her eyes is like staring into the sun, her skin the milky way, her spirit a supernova. But I hate her. I want to leave her. We come to a stop, a fucking train and I just want to get out and slam the door and walk away from everything. The life we have built together, the apartment, our cars, the two stupid Pomeranians she calls our fucking children, her sleeping through the 5 alarms she has to set, her cussing me out every time she gets her period about whatever I did to piss her off that whole month, her smoking weed in my fucking Armani sports jacket because she “likes the way it feels on her skin,” her fights with her mother, her drunken rants about new new feminism and the way that women are actually superior to men, the way she castrates me with one sentence, the way she can live without me and I can’t be one day without her, I want to walk away, set it on fire, never look back. The train finally passes and we go over the bumpy tracks and she lets out her adorable giggle. What is going on in that head of hers? I realize I will never know. She is everything I ever wanted and everything I absolutely detest. but I cannot live without her. I cannot breathe without her. I am almost brought to tears when I even think about waking up without her in my bed and I am brought back to that time two years ago when I almost lost her and I was desperately miserable. I never want to feel like that again. I reach over and grab her hand. We sit in silence still but now I feel her warmth of her skin and it floods me with love and lust, I just want to taste her tequila lips. We finally pull up to our destination and I reach down and grab her phone and hand it to her, she takes it gently from me and smiles that beautiful smile. “You stay. I am leaving. I can’t do this.” She slams the door and does not even look back once as she walks away.
I bite my lip and breathe in deeply, let my head fall heavy to the back of the sofa and let out the air as harshly as I possibly can. My feet are throbbing. These dumb memory foam sketchers are a bunch of bullshit. They don’t help my aching back, neck, feet, knees, body at all. Nine-hour days in these plastic spastic high chairs bent over these moron’s phones. Telling them how to sign into email accounts and why their bill is so high and being yelled at for being the face of a multi billion dollar corporation that specializes in the service of a customer that they could not care less about. Faking being nice is more exhausting than being anything else. I smile and nod and absorb all the heavy blows that are not meant for me but a figment, a mirage. It is amazing to me how one person or a small group of people can start a company and after years they become so detached that they are just racking in money from the work of someone that they have never even heard their name. They literally are just a number, a dealer code, a username. My interview is tomorrow. I remember being young and telling myself that I would be a writer. I would live in a little cottage in the woods with a typewriter like Christian from Moulin Rogue. Maybe I would waste my life with a cancan dancer as well because I, too, have this “ridiculous obsession with love.” I always wanted my life to be romantic and tragic and here I am, preparing for this interview to be an office manger at a law firm downtown and I feel a piece of my soul die a little. The little 6 year old me dressed in hot pink boas and her mother’s high heels and sporadic glitter and red lipstick like a clown is just staring up at me with disappointment. Is this really what you want? I try to convince myself that this will be good for me. I will have an hour commute there and an hour back! That’s two whole hours that I can write every day on the train. But will I? Or will I get distracted by the passing buildings or my boyfriend calling or my expectations for the day or the nap I could take or the article on whether or not Kim Kardashian’s butt is real? Am I even a writer? Am I even an artist? I am definitely a liar. I am about to tell this man my goals for the next 5 years and pretend like they have anything to do with staying at his company. People believe that I am mediocre because my heart is not in anything I do. All I can think about getting hit by a bus like Frieda Kahlo so my mother who never took care of me when I was a child would be forced to take care of my paralyzed body so that I would be able to never work again and just FINALLY be immobile and write a damn book! FINISH A PIECE OF WORK! Sit and be still and focused and clear and concise. And I could learn all the rules of grammar that way I wouldn’t look like a complete and utter doofus. I wonder what he will ask me? What are your greatest strengths and weaknesses? What I think is so hilarious about that question is that no one likes to admit their real weaknesses. And you better not dare! They want to hire an honest person but don’t you dare tell them the truth because they will hold it against you for your whole career. I would love to tell them about my fiery temper and my consistent tardiness and my obsessive-compulsive tendencies. But I will stick to the cute little lies of oh, I work too hard, I am too hard on myself, I am too much of a perfectionist. My greatest strength is that I imagine murdering people constantly in my head, all day long, and I never do it. I would say that is pretty impressive. But, of course, I cannot tell them that. See, if I were the interviewer, I would appreciate this kind of honest and boldness. This will be just another place I don’t belong. I belong in between two pages of a book. I belong in the depths of my imagination. I belong in a drunken dream. But I will be hired anyways. And I will be one step closer to being a reliable adult, one step closer to financial stability, one step closer to the murder/suicide of my dreams and soul.
**side note, after hydroplaning into the back of a semi, I would say BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU FUCKING WISH FOR IDIOTS! I have been in the most pain in my entire life. Not being able to work has been the worse curse I could wish upon anyone. and surprise surprise, NO ONE has been taking care of me lol. except a select few GREAT friends and my loving adoring amazing uncle who I owe my life and everything I have to!!!! but yeah, Frieda, I have NO CLUE how you endured sista!
I thought hell would be all fire and brimstone and weeping and teeth grinding until the end of eternity. It turns out hell is more like Orlando Florida. Overcrowded, overpriced, cheap thrills, humid as hell and never ending lines to anticlimactic rides. Theme-less parks with unending wandering carrying overstuffed, oversized animals, half dehydrated and half succumb to a vertigo spell on and on for all time. I don’t really know how I got here or why. I guess I should not have gone thru the IPASS lane without an IPASS. I should have called my mother more, or called her a “bitch” less. I should have gone to temple. Shoulda woulda coulda. But now I am a wanderer. I am looking for nothing and that’s exactly what I find my endless days here. Until one fateful day a man dressed in black jeans and a black v neck t-shirt and gorgeous black hair walks straight up to me. “Welcome.” He says to me in a sweet vanilla voice as he holds out his hand in front of him to take mine. I quickly begin to size him up. I haven’t seen anyone here looking this happy. “Who are you?” I ask with bold cynicism written all over my face. “We are quite familiar my darling.” I take his hand and suddenly I am in a giant room lined with bookshelves beyond my eyesight. The bookshelves are filled with books and beautiful knickknacks and glass figurines. There is a grand piano in the middle of the room and he sits down to play. He doesn’t even touch the keys but they begin to quiver and let out a low bellow then continue to play Chopin – Nocturne op. 9 No. 2. “This is my favorite song!” I squeal. “I know my sweet little kitten.” I take a step towards the bookshelves and realize on them are my old belongings, things I loved as a child. A white porcelain cat with a pink bow around her neck that was lost in a flooding of my childhood home’s basement. Books that my mother burned in an attempt to cleanse me of evil. The movie The Little Mermaid that she had ripped out all of the film of the VHS right in front of my very eyes and cut it into shreds when I was about 7 because it was filled with witchcraft. “Are these all MY things?!?!” I cannot tell if I am incredibly exultant or desperately despondent. “You can have whatever you want my cherry blossom. That’s why you’re here in the first place. To fulfill your longings.” My want is suddenly to kiss him but I see he is playing a game of seduction. So, I will play along. “But what could I give you in return? What could I possibly have that you want.” I ask sheepishly. “Oh nothing extraordinary my petunia. It’s been the deal this whole time; it’s always been on the table. What is your soul in the scope of eternity to have everything your heart desires? The princess of darkness.” With this he stands from the piano and grabs me by the waist and starts to twirl me around the room. Suddenly we are in a ballroom and I have the most beautiful black princess gown with a matching black tiara on the crown of my head. I feel elated, the height of bliss. I then realize I have been doing this dance my entire life.
I think the hardest part of waking up is in my dreams I’m in your arms. But in the morning, you’re not there. The hills of muscle of your beautiful body turn into mountains and miles between us. And in my dreams I can still taste you, and smell you, and feel you… but like a hangover, by noon it’s just a headache and longing for the sun to go down and reminding me that the light isn’t coming from you anymore. Sad excuse for a day, all cloudy and gloom. Days with you were blazing sun and endless. And as one last cigarette turned to five, a love grew inside of me like that blazing sun. It blinded me, blistered me, tore right thru my insides, burned me up, threatened to never set then one day it was gone. And I’ve been howling at the moon ever since just trying to follow the South star back to you. Losing my way every few steps. Stumbling, fumbling, over the words I should have said, the words I shouldn’t have said. I’m lost without you. I don’t know why it was so hard for me to admit this to myself. I gave up the path a million times pretending I was just wandering the wild on an adventure but I was always trying to navigate back to your arms. Those warm warrior love arms. I wonder if I just lay here if you’d ever come looking for me too. If you’d send out search and rescue and one day I would wake up, dehydrated and barely conscious with a concerned look on your face trying to bring me back to life, to love, to us. Or would I just waste away here in the destitute wilderness, wolves circling my brokenness ready to devour me, trying to find your heart in this jungle? Is it even here? Has it been captured by another? I guess my dreams will just have to do. Because in my dreams you’re mine. And I’m yours. And you want it that way and you’re happy with me. And that’s the only place our happily ever after will be ever after. And no matter what, I always want that smile on your face. And I just don’t put it there anymore.